


A Not So Criminal Attraction

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Derek is not a gang leader, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Stiles makes assumptions that are totally wrong, but also sort of understandable too, no matter what it looks like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 00:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14821631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: Derek is way too sweet to be a criminal, but then that’s probably what everyone who loves a criminal would say.Really, if the evidence wasn’t piled so high, Stilesmighteven think that Derek was just a regular guy.





	A Not So Criminal Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> writing this fic and keeping under the 2.5k max for the Sterek Zine was _so freaking hard_. lmao, i am usually a very verbose person and i had to slash and cut and trim this down so much to make it fit XD
> 
> it ended up juuuust over the limit anyway but hey, i mostly succeeded and that is what matters ;) either way it was super fun

Stiles is dating a mobster. Or a gang member. Mafia man? Crime lord?

Whatever. He doesn’t know exactly what terminology to use because Derek has  never outright confirmed it, but it’s _so obvious._ Stiles’ boyfriend is definitely a part of some sketchy underground syndicate of criminal activity and it’s like he isn’t even _trying_ to hide it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles tabbed out barely an hour after he’d gotten to the club. He’d thought that, being new to the city, going out clubbing at the hottest joint in town would be a good way to meet people in the area, but all he’d gotten were a few appreciative looks and two polite brush-offs. At this rate, he figured he might as well go back to his apartment where the booze was cheaper.

He made it three blocks before someone jumped out of an alley at him. It was a blur of movement, a burst of sound, a jolt of adrenaline and, you know, this was exactly the kind of shit his dad had warned him about when he’d said he wanted to move to the big city. He really should listen to his dad more often.

Stiles had never been mugged before so he wasn’t entirely sure of the protocol, but he thought a little panicking was understandable and even warranted. There was a lot of yelling and some waving around of what might’ve been a weapon—it was too dark to really see—and then, quite unexpectedly, there was a wall of leather in Stiles’ field of vision.

It was a leather-clad back, broad and muscled, and it belonged to the single most intimidating man Stiles had ever laid eyes on. Absolutely _gorgeous,_ Stiles discovered when the man shot a glance back at him, but definitely intimidating with his chiseled jaw and painted-on stubble and thick eyebrows pulled down in a scowl that could make a stone bleed just by looking at it.

He sounded calm, though, when he said: “You should rethink this course of action.”

If Stiles had been slightly less terrified, he might’ve laughed. He sort of wanted to laugh anyway, but that was probably just a bout of hysteria. His attacker didn’t laugh, though. He sneered and said, “Who are you supposed to be?”

Leather Guy shrugged. “I’m a Hale,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve heard of my mother, Talia.”

The names meant nothing to Stiles, but the mugger hesitated. Weapon of indeterminate lethality still in hand, he bounced on his heels a bit like he was contemplating making a move on them anyway, even if he was risking Talia Hale’s apparent wrath.

Before he could make a decision, there were footsteps from the other end of the alley. Stiles peeked over Leather Guy’s shoulder to see three more people, dramatically silhouetted by the streetlamps’ glow; two men and a woman. All wearing leather jackets. What the hell was this, some kind of fashion statement? A uniform?

Whatever it was, the mugger clearly deemed it too much. He dropped his weapon and held up his hands in surrender. Stiles’ knight in black leather scooped up the weapon—a knife, as it turned out—and flipped it over in his hand, then jerked his head at the mugger dismissively.

The mugger took off running, scraping his back along the wall to avoid the others when they didn’t move out of his way.

Leather Guy watched him go, then turned back to Stiles. Goddamn it, his smile was as intimidating as his muscles and twice as attractive.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles said with a dry mouth. “Thanks for that.”

An arm was suddenly thrown over Stiles’ shoulder, making him jump.

“Don’t worry, kid,” the woman from the alley mouth said, a sharp grin on her red lips. “We got your back.”

Leather Guy nodded solemnly like it was some kind of promise, and as Stiles was led out of the alley by an escort of leather-wearing badasses, he had the very strong feeling that he’d just joined a gang.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s probably dangerous, dating a criminal. At least twice a day Stiles reminds himself that this is almost certainly a bad idea and he should get out while he can, before he gets kidnapped by a rival gang leader and used as leverage or something. That’s the kind of thing that happens to the boss’s main squeeze, right? At least in movies.

Sometimes he tries to imagine what his dad’s reaction would be. Then he stops imagining that because it is never a pretty mental picture. Maybe he should feel guilty for putting himself in harm’s way like this, but Stiles comforts himself with the absolute conviction that Derek will keep him safe. Even if Derek’s criminal activities catch up with him, he won’t let Stiles get hurt.

That totally makes it worth it. Right?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek Hale was charming. Like, really charming in that confident-without-being-arrogant kind of way. He was smart and funny and attractive, and he somehow thought Stiles was smart and funny and attractive too.

And he was also totally a mob boss, or at least the son of one. There was no other way to explain it.

He claimed he was a grad student, working on his thesis in some tedious subject that he didn’t want to bore Stiles with, but Stiles had never known a college student with a disgustingly expensive race car and a platinum credit card. No unemployed student threw around money the way Derek did, like he had so much cash on hand that he was practically giving it away.

Where was Derek getting that kind of dough then? It had to be coming from somewhere, and the most logical explanation Stiles could think of was a life of crime.

He wanted to be bothered by that, but then Derek started buying him those really ridiculous Starbucks concoctions every morning and giving him rides to class in said disgustingly expensive race car and _smiling_ at him all charmingly, and there was only so much Stiles could bring himself to care.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles sometimes wonders if Derek is so cavalier about what his family does with everyone, or if he’s more circumspect around people who aren’t his boyfriend. He certainly hopes so. The kinds of things Derek says, out loud and with a carefree smile on his face like it’s no big deal, honestly worry Stiles.

“Gotta swing by the warehouse and pick up a shipment of oxy for Peter. If I’m late, he’ll break my kneecaps,” he says with a chuckle.

But Stiles has met Peter Hale and the guy is no laughing matter, all sharp, narrowed eyes and pithy, vaguely threatening quips. It’s no surprise to have confirmation that he’s the one in charge of the drug-running portion of the Hales’ criminal enterprise. It’s a bit more of a surprise for Derek to comment on it so openly, and to laugh over the threat of bodily harm.

Derek comes back to Stiles’ apartment later that night with a pizza and two functional legs, so he must not have been late. Thank god.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek’s car broke down on the way to the fancy restaurant he was taking Stiles to for their one month anniversary. Stiles was halfway through dialing AAA when Derek waved him off with “I know a guy.” Not at _all_ suspicious.

Turned out, the guy was just Isaac. Apparently he owned a garage, and Boyd and Erica worked there too. And all three of them refused to let Derek pay a dime even though, judging by Stiles’ limited knowledge of cars, the repairs were gonna be pretty costly. Derek just rolled his eyes, gave Stiles a kiss, and said he would run and get them coffee instead, which left Stiles alone with them.

“So, uh...what’s with the discount?” Stiles asked, hands in pockets to keep himself from fiddling with any of the tools laid out on every available surface. “Is it just ‘cause he’s the boss-man? Not like he can’t pay.”

Isaac snorted from underneath the car. “Derek never has to pay me anything. I owe him.”

“How much?” Stiles asked, a little wary.

“My life.”

Stiles must’ve made some audible noise of surprise because Erica came up from under the hood to pop her gum at him.

“Pretty sure we all owe him a life debt by now,” she said with a shrug, like life debts were a normal thing. Maybe in their circle they were. “Gotta pay it back somehow.”

Boyd clapped Stiles on the shoulder with a heavy, grease-stained hand. “I’d take a bullet for that man if I had to,” he said, “but fixing his car for free is a lot easier.”

Stiles nodded back at him, throat too dry to form words, and Boyd moved away to join Erica in whatever she was doing. Stiles watched them work and banter and laugh until Derek came back in with five cups of gourmet coffee in a cardboard carrier, then he watched them some more.

He liked these people a lot, honestly, he did. He sipped his coffee and hoped really hard that taking a bullet wasn’t something any of them had to do on a regular basis.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Derek is way too sweet to be a criminal, but then that’s probably what everyone who loves a criminal would say.

Every time Derek reaches out to hold Stiles’ hand, or kisses Stiles’ temple, or texts to make sure Stiles got home okay, or runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair and smiles in that particular way Derek only does for him, Stiles marvels at how gentleness like that can survive in such a dark and dangerous world.

Really, if the evidence wasn’t piled so high, Stiles _might_ even think that Derek was just a regular guy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They were watching some procedural drama on Stiles’ couch, legs tangled together and a huge bucket of popcorn spanning both their laps, when Derek snorted.

“He’s making such a big deal of it,” he said, waving derisively at the broody cop on screen. “Laura wasn’t nearly that whiny when _she_ got shot.”

Stiles almost choked on an unpopped kernel, every movie depiction of turf war shoot-outs flashing through his head all at once. After a moment of hacking up a lung, he said, “Does that, uh...happen to her a lot? The getting shot?”

Derek shrugged, munching happily at his popcorn. “No more than anyone else in her line of work.”

Stiles swallowed. _Line of work,_ right, what a very convincing euphemism that was. “Enforcing, you mean?” Making sure the law of the land—the Hale law—was followed.

Derek snorted again. “Sure, that’s one way of putting it,” he said. “Turn it up a bit, will you?”

Stiles obligingly upped the volume. Then he pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, wrapped them up in it, and settled in for a nice evening of studiously pretending he wasn’t living out the romantic subplot of a bad, made-for-TV gangster movie.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles isn’t a hundred percent sure Derek knows that he knows. He’s _gotta_ know, considering how little he tries to hide it, but he’s also never actually told Stiles or warned him or anything. It’s just sort of an open secret.

Stiles does appreciate the plausible deniability it gives him, though. That’s probably why Derek does it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why haven’t I met your dad?” Derek asked one day over dinner.

Stiles’ blinked at him in disbelief. “My dad’s on the other side of the country,” he said slowly. “Also, he’s a cop.”

“But we’ve never even been introduced by phone,” Derek said. “We’ve been dating six months. You’ve met all my family, but I’ve never met yours.”

Stiles continued to stare. “Derek. He’s a _cop._ ”

“So?”

“So you don’t think that’s a bad idea?” Stiles asked.

Derek frowned. “Why would it be a bad idea?”

Stiles mouthed at him for a moment, at a loss. “I don’t know, Der. I was just under the impression that families like yours tend to _avoid_ the police.”

“Families like mine,” Derek repeated blankly. “By which you mean…?”

“You know,” Stiles said meaningfully, but apparently that wasn’t enough because Derek still looked unreasonably confused. “The Family Business? Your ‘line of work’?”

Still nothing.

Stiles groaned. “Mob family!” he blurted out. “Mafia! Whatever you guys are!”

There, it was finally out in the open, all the facts on the table. And yet somehow, Derek didn’t look any less confused. Actually he looked twice as baffled, which was just ludicrous. He _had_ to have known Stiles knew by now.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Derek asked. “Mob family? Where the hell did you get that idea?”

“Dude, it’s obvious! I mean, look at how we met. You name-dropped your mom to a criminal and he ran like satan was on his heels,” Stiles reminded him.

“My mom’s the foremost prosecutor in the state,” Derek said. “Her entire platform is built on cleaning up the streets. She’s got billboards all over the city.”

Stiles had seen the billboards, but so what? Lots of criminal overlords had legit careers as fronts. Everyone knew lawyers were sketchy anyway.

“What about your friends then?” Stiles demanded. “They all said they owe you life debts. Normal people don’t have life debts!”

“Melodramatic idiots do,” Derek said with an eye roll. “I got Isaac out of an unsafe home environment. I talked Boyd off of a ledge when his sister died. And I get Erica discounts on the good epilepsy meds through Peter.”

Shit, those were good reasons to owe someone. The drugs, though. “Through Peter and his illegal drug-running?” Stiles tried.

“And his _perfectly legitimate_ _pharmaceutical company!_ ” Derek cried, but he was laughing too. A lot.

“But Laura got shot!” Stiles sputtered. “She’s an enforcer. You said so.”

Derek almost couldn’t form words from laughing so hard, but he managed to squeeze out. “ _Law_ enforcement, Stiles! She’s a cop!”

Stiles slumped back in his chair, his entire brain on the fritz as he tried to reconcile the last five minutes with the past six months. How could he have been so wrong? It had all added up perfectly in his brain! But Derek was wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes and the whole thing did sound a lot more ridiculous out loud.

“You’re really not anything?” Stiles asked weakly.

“I’m a grad student,” Derek told him. “Business management. Intern at Peter’s company. Shameless trust fund kid. Definitely not a criminal.”

Stiles made a wordless noise of anguish and humiliation and buried his burning face in his hands. In a second, Derek was there, petting his hair soothingly even as he chuckled some more. Stiles let Derek pull him up and into a hug.

When they pulled apart, Derek kissed him on the nose and said, “Promise you’ll still love me even if I’m not a mobster?”

Stiles couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll make do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles is dating a grad student. A perfectly ordinary, run of the mill grad student. And that’s more than enough for him.


End file.
